


My nightmare, My waking dream

by orphan_account



Series: 2015 Valentines [4]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3359156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The King is suffering from an unknown illness, the same disease that has left the royal healer dead. He blames witchcraft at once, but decides to call for any and all healers in the kingdom in hopes of catching a witch in the act of using magic to heal him. Ross hopes no witches arrive, for their own sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My nightmare, My waking dream

**Author's Note:**

> Valentine for [Cake-and-Leave](http://cake-and-leave.tumblr.com).

Ross’ mother ordered him to his rooms when the healers started arriving.

“Some of them may be witches,” she said gravely. “We can’t risk the heir being assaulted by that type of scum.”

So Ross sat at his window in order to watch the best healers in the kingdom arrive with their carts and their assistants and their bulging bags of supplies. He would have given anything to be down there, talking to them all. He wanted to know where they were from, what types of people and animals they’ve seen, how the weather was everywhere, what types of illnesses they had cured. 

While his mother and father were making this all about rooting out more witches, Ross genuinely wanted the King to overcome his illness. He just hoped the healer who would be able to cure his father wouldn’t turn out to be a witch.

He leaned his forehead against the glass panes. Another healer had arrived, a slim young man carrying a heavy bag against his back. He shook his head when a servant came forwards to help him with his bag.

Ross watched the man until he walked out of sight. He waited for a while longer, but nobody else entered the courtyard. 

Resigned, he left the window and sat down at his desk. There were so many things he had to get done. Memorizing the geography of the kingdom and the surrounding kingdoms, learning important names and events, practicing languages, and more. At least he would be allowed out of his room tomorrow, when he was due for training with the knights. He could spend time with his horse, chat with his friends among the knights, and forget about his parents’ plot against witches for a short time. 

But Ross was stuck here right now. He stared at the endless pages of Latin in one of the books his father told him he needed to read and understand. He could pick up on most of the words, but the grammar was just impossible. So he pushed the book aside and resolved to look at it later. 

Instead, Ross spread one of his favorite maps in front of him. It was a map of the northern territory of the kingdom. His father received that land before Ross was born, when he married Ross’ mother. Even its previous king hadn’t charted that area properly. Most of the information on this map was from local explorers and mapmakers. For unskilled peasants, it was a good map.

Still, there were countless blank or vague areas. It frustrated his father and most of the knights, who wanted nothing more than to send out an expedition to chart those lands better and hunt for witches hiding within the mountains and forests, but it intrigued Ross. Maybe witches and werewolves were hiding there, but he could only guess what other creatures were living there. Dragons, fire worms, unicorns, manticores, gryphons, giants, … the possibilities were endless.

Even if it was dangerous, Ross would give anything to see it. 

His manservant arrived with his dinner as Ross was still musing about the fantastic creatures hiding just out of reach. Ross stopped him before he left.

“Have you seen the healers?” Ross asked excitedly.

His manservant nodded. “Yes, Highness. Many of them are well-renowned for their skill. They drew lots for the order in which they would attempt to heal the King.”

“So who is the healer going first?”

“Oh,” the manservant sighed. “I don’t expect that one to get very far. Some young man who makes herbal remedies and salves. He thinks he can at least diagnose the King, so at least we might know what curse His Majesty is being afflicted with. Since the royal healer was also cursed and died...” he trailed off and Ross looked away, thinking. 

He dismissed his manservant and watched the candles flicker in front of him. He ate slowly, savoring each bite, and pondering how his parents’ plan would play out. While it was probably a good idea, all they would be doing would be hunting down witches who were good. Bad witches wouldn’t try to heal people. 

Unfortunately, it always seemed to be the good witches who Ross had to watch burning on pyres in the courtyard while a crowd of peasants and nobles watched with sick fascination. It was horrible, but Ross had been forbidden from being down in the square after the first burning, when he tried to save the poor witch children from the flames. Their screams still haunted Ross.

He blew out the candles and finished his dinner in darkness, then went to bed early. As he closed his eyes, he wished there was a way for a healer to keep the nightmares out of his mind. He would gladly accept any magical cure that could keep him from reliving every public execution he had seen since he was a child.

~~~~~~

Ross awoke before the sun rose, but he was unable to appreciate the sunrise due to the early morning rain clouds that rolled across the sky. He dressed himself and left the room before his manservant could arrive, which would give the overworked man some time to himself.

When he left the kitchens after getting a few things to eat from the sibling cooks who had a sweet spot for him, he was almost instantly drenched by a steady downpour of rain. 

“Prince Ross,” Sir Panda, one of the knights waved him over to where a trio of knights were huddled under the thatched overhanging roof of the stables. Ross hurried over to them. 

“We’re going to wait on yard training until the rain lets up,” Sir Matt said. 

“You up for a early morning ride to the river?” Sir Phil asked, winking. 

“Definitely.” Ross said eagerly. 

They prepared their horses quickly and soon the knights and Ross were riding out of the castle grounds and approaching the path that led to the north bend in the river. The rain didn’t impede their progress of affect their sight quite as much when they went into the forest, so Sir Phil and Sir Matt suggested they take a detour. 

They continued through a narrow path that soon joined with the main road north through the forest. As they rode, they came across a young man pulling a fairly large wooden cart. At least, it was large for a single person. The man froze when the knights and Ross stopped next to him.

“Hello there!” Sir Panda said in a very friendly tone. 

The man examined them all warily. “Good day, sirs.”

“If you’re on your way into the city, you’ve only got maybe one more hour to go,” Sir Phil informed him. The young man bobbed his head rapidly. 

“Yeah, thanks. Sirs,” he said, in that same careful tone. He turned his face down and pulled hard on his cart, dragging it through a small muddy puddle. Ross watched him for a few seconds, then he followed after Sir Phil and Sir Matt. 

Wherever the man was going, Ross hoped he reached it safely. There were thieves in the woods who wouldn’t hesitate to attack a single man with a cart.

~~~~~~

When Ross and the knights returned, they rode to the courtyard rather than to the stables. Sir Matt took the reins of Sir Panda’s horse so the other knight could go into the castle to find some servants to take their horses back to the stables.

Ross dismounted his own horse and patted its nose gently. “Thanks,” he whispered to the horse. It leaned its large head against his.

Sir Panda soon emerged from the palace with a pair of servants, who took the reins of their horses and led them away.

“Seems like they’ve found a witch already,” Sir Panda said as soon as the servants were away. He shook his head sadly. “The King is better, but he’s ordered all of the healers thrown into the dungeons.”

“What?” Ross exclaimed. 

“That was fast,” Sir Phil muttered. “A shame that they’ll all be punished though. All they wanted was to heal the King, even if some were motivated by a reward.”

“A shame that any of them would be punished,” Sir Matt clarified. He and Sir Phil exchanged nods of approval. “It’s not our place to say, Prince Ross, but it’s rather harsh for your father to extend his intolerance to witches who only try to do good.”

“I know,” Ross sighed. “It’s something I’m going to change as soon as I become King.”

Sir Panda clapped a brief round of applause that Sir Matt and Sir Phil joined in upon. Ross gave Sir Panda a one-armed hug. Then he turned to the other knights.

Softly, Ross said, “I want to go see the healers. If there’s anything I can do…” 

Sir Matt squeezed Ross’ shoulder comfortingly. “Go on, mate.”

Ross smiled and ran off in the direction of the dungeons. A servant tried to stop him on his way, saying “Prince Ross, your father the King wishes to speak with you,” but Ross brushed him off casually, muttering “Yes, yes, later.”

He reached the door to the dungeons in no time. A pair of guards stood at the entrance. They moved in front of Ross when he reached out to push the door open.

“Sorry, Highness, but the prisoners in here are dangerous.”

Ross clenched his teeth. “Yes I know. I want to see them, though. Please.”

The second guard tried to make eye contact with Ross, but ended up dropping his gaze to the floor. “Your father the King wouldn’t approve.”

Ross thought fast. “But he hasn’t forbidden you from letting me in yet, right?”

“I--no, your Highness.”

Ross grinned triumphantly and pushed past the guards to open the door before they could think up another argument. He hurried down the steps to the main dungeons and seized a torch from the wall. There was not much light coming in from the small windows, as the rain clouds were still blocking out the sun. It was also quite damp and cold down here and Ross felt extremely guilty that so many healers had been forced down here. They might catch something during their forced imprisonment, and it was all because his father was paranoid and intolerant of magic.

He reached the first set of bars and squinted into the dim area beyond.

“Please sir,” came a faint elderly voice, “Please tell the King that me and my daughter are innocent. We’re not witches. Please.”

This wasn’t the one who healed the King, according to his manservant’s description. He was looking for a young man, perhaps that young man he had seen in the courtyard yesterday. Still, Ross’ heart went out to the elderly man and his daughter. 

“I’ll do what I can. I promise,” Ross said very seriously. He stepped away from the first cell and continued along the passage. He looked into several other small barred chambers, but none of them contained a young man. He eventually came to an empty cell and groaned in frustration. 

“Where,” he said under his breath.

“Who’s there?”

Ross started. This new voice was young, male, and coming from a location farther down the passage. He hurried to the place where he thought the voice originated from and found the same slim young man crouched near the bars. 

“Sorry,” the young man said. He slid back into the partial darkness. “I just wanted to see the light.” Ross looked at the back wall of the young man’s prison, where there was usually a tiny crack of a window to let light inside. But this man had no such window. He was confined to the darkness, far from the other healers. 

“I…” the young man said softly. “I don’t suppose you know what’s going to happen to us--to me? Seeing as it’s me who used magic...” he trailed away, staring hopelessly at the ground.

Ross knelt down in front of the bars. “I don’t know. But the King’s probably going to execute you. I’m not sure why he’s keeping the others here. Maybe he wants to make an example of you.” Even as he said them, the words turned sour on Ross’ lips. He hated this. He hated how this young witch was going to die for being a good person. “I’m sorry,” he added softly.

The witch looked up at Ross. “Why should you be sorry? You’re not the King. Not like you can do anything about it. This is just the way things are.”

“No, I’m,” Ross said, gripping the torch tightly. “I… my father is the king. I’m his son.”

“Oh,” the witch’s eyes widened.

“But I don’t agree with it all!” Ross added. “It’s awful. You were just trying to help, right?”

“Yeah…” he said. “Not like it helped me any. Now we’ve got a healed King who’s just going back to killing witches for existing.”

Ross gently laid the torch on the stone floor beside him. “I can try to talk to him,” he offered.

The witch shook his head. “If you think that might make a difference.”

“It probably won’t,” Ross admitted glumly.

“Don’t feel bad about it,” the witch said. “You’re only the prince, right? What’s your name?”

“Ross.”

“I’m Chris.” He smiled and it was so beautifully heartbreaking that Ross felt like breaking down. Ross couldn’t even try to smile back, because he knew that witch’s smile was highly unlikely to exist come tomorrow evening. 

“Hello, Chris,” Ross said instead. “I take it this is your first time in the capital city?”

Chris let out a short laugh. “Yeah. I tried to avoid cities and towns as much as I could before all this. But when I heard the King was sick, I don’t know. I wanted to do something, even though he’s murdered so many of my kind.”

“Sorry this had to be your first experience in this city,” Ross said. “It really is a nice place, most of the time. When my father isn’t being mad about the smallest things. So… do you come from a family of witches? Or is it just you?”

Chris came a little closer to the bars. Ross could see his face better, and he immediately wanted to do anything he could to preserve Chris’ life. Just the memory of this person wasn’t enough. He was beautiful and kind and caring and he deserved to live.

“Maybe? I know my dad was a witch, but I can’t tell you if my mum was. I’ve only really known two other witches beside me. An old bastard named Sips and a woman I only knew for a day. But Sips isn’t around anymore.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Chris chuckled. “Mate, you’ve got to stop apologizing for things you had no influence over. Death is something that happens to people. Though it’s nice to know you don’t share your father’s ideas about people like me.”

Ross leaned against the bars and stretched his hand inside. He rested it on the cold stone floor in front of Chris. “I promise I won’t be anything like my father.”

Chris still looked sad. “That’s a relief.” He dropped his gaze down to Ross’ hand and cautiously covered it with his own.

Chris’ hand was rough, but it was warm. Ross turned his hand over and took Chris’ hand into his, squeezing just enough to reassure the witch, and himself. Chris was here right now, he was beautiful, he was scared, but he was alive. And as long as he was still alive, Ross could do something. It would be going against his father completely, but if he worked fast and under the cover of night, he could save Chris.

Ross met Chris’ eyes. “I’m going to get you out of here,” he promised. 

Chris frowned. “That’s not going to happen.”

Ross shook his head forcefully, then pressed it against the bars again. “I can do it. I’ve got some friends who can help you get away.” Chris still looked doubtful. Ross pressed on. “Trust me.”

“I’ve only just--”

“Please trust me,” Ross interrupted. “I need to do this.”

Chris watched Ross for a long moment. Then he broke into a very small smile and said, “Right.”

Ross was still holding Chris’ hand firmly. “You can get away once you’re out of the city?”

“Maybe the woods by the river is a better place. But yeah. I can take care of myself.”

Ross smiled and tried to project confidence, rather than the insecurity he felt. He had no idea if Matt, Phil, and Panda would go through with his spontaneous plan. But he wanted to do it, for Chris, who shouldn’t have ever been presented with a situation where he had to give up on the chance to live longer.

“I’ll leave the torch for you,” Ross offered.

Chris shook his head. “No. You can keep it. I’ve got all the light I need now.”

He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to leave. But Ross knew if he stayed any longer, people would be sent out to look for him and it would be very bad for Chris if he were to be discovered here.

~~~~~~

Things didn’t go quite according to plan.

Ross convinced Sir Phil and Sir Matt to help Chris escape through the secret escape tunnel in the dungeons intended as the royal family’s last escape route in case of a siege. They returned several tense hours later and informed Ross that Chris was safely away. They even handed Ross a brief handwritten note from Chris. In Latin.

Ross spoke to his father that evening about what he planned to do with the rest of the healers, to keep him away from the dungeons during Chris’ escape. Just as he expected, the plan was to force them to watch the execution. However, the King also suggested the possibility of seeking out a Church official to interrogate the healers, just so they would be sure none of the others were witches.

Once the King heard of the escape, however, he ordered all of the healers to be tortured. The old man and a pair of middle-aged women confessed to being witches and were burned in a large pyre while the others who had not confessed were forced to light the flames. Three of the other healers, including the old man’s daughter, were all killed during the vicious interrogation.

It made Ross sick. While he wasn’t the one to seal the healers’ fates, he was responsible for the sudden change in his father’s mood.

While he had saved one person, he had indirectly killed six others.

His nightmares returned in full force the evening after the execution, but when he awoke from the bad dreams, for once, he didn’t see the memory of the pyre in the softly burning flame on the candle at his bedside.

He saw the small reflection of the torch in Chris’ eyes.


End file.
